Ad Infinitum
by MufuMufuSan
Summary: Harry finds himself in a world of heroes and villains. He really does try to stay out of trouble, but as usual- Trouble usually finds him, instead. MOD!Harry Potter, gen.


**Ad Infinitum**

_Prologue_

_This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form. If ya' see a mistake, help a buddy out? Please? :'D_

**Warnings**: General, rushed writing. Poor attempt at humor. Dark themes. Casual mentions of death. MOD!Harry, de-aged!Harry.

**A/N**: I have no idea what I'm doing with this fic, haha.

This came out of nowhere, and while I love reading BNHA fanfics, I never planned to write one for myself. So, uh, take this with a grain of salt, lmao. I also tried not to make it an angst-fest, so- light angst! And I did try to make it funny, but my sense of humor is generally bad. :'D

Thank you, and hope you enjoy!

* * *

Harry James Potter experienced many things in his existence.

He was the boy-who-lived turned man-who-conquered. That soon turned into 'Master of Death', which sounds all high and mighty but it really translated to being a tourist to various other worlds and lives every time he died, because why not? His life was fate's joke beforehand, so why not continue it after it ended?

Apparently Death was lonely, but where does that leave Harry?

As of right now—still suffering from the injuries that killed him the last place he's been in, it left him in some random park that was surprisingly empty except for him and two unfortunate kids. Kids who will no doubt be traumatized from finding Harry crumpled on the ground, bleeding and kind of out of it because he was still shook™ from his recent death.

It was their murmurs and reluctance of walking up to that stirred Harry, causing him to lift his head weakly up to squint at them.

Both of the boys screamed.

"Eek!" The green haired one shrieked, pale and shaking. He fell onto his side to clutch on the frozen blond, fisting the other's pants until his knuckles ran white. "K-ka-Kacchan! What do- what do we do?" The one called Kacchan seemed to be at lost.

Well, at lost, and wholly terrified.

"S-shut up, Deku," the blond kicked the other off of him, before he glared at Harry. Harry, who was the injured and bloodied one in this situation. "Who are you? What are you?"

Wow—no 'hey, are you okay?' 'Do you need help?'

No?

Harry choked on a laugh, which was wet with blood. "My name is Harry," he greeted after a few wet wheezes, slamming his head back down onto the ground. The world was woozy and spinning, and he just wanted to go back to sleep. At least sleep doesn't hurt him, as long as he didn't dream. "And I'm fine."

"_Bullshit_!" Kacchan hissed. "You're not fucking fine! You're bleeding all over the place!"

"Do you need help?" The one called Deku finally asked, timid but concerned.

"Just let me die." Harry replied cheerfully, causing Deku to choke in surprise. Kacchan gritted his teeth, still giving him a scathing glare.

"Deku, stay here—I'm going to get fucking help," the blond demanded, turning and running out of the park. Deku squeaked, attempting to protest before the blond left but alas—it was futile. Harry snickered slightly and peered at the kid through half-lidded eyes.

"Don't worry," he slurred. "I don't bite, kid."

"K-kid?" Deku questioned, rooted in spot. He kept nervously glancing to where Kacchan disappeared to, wringing his hands nervously. He was still pale and sweating, his freckles standing out against his skin. "B-but you're around my age," he observed, eying Harry.

His age?

His _age_?

Harry stared blankly at him, before slowly wriggling an arm free from underneath him. He stared at his hand; a tiny hand that belonged to a child. That belonged to _him_—which, well, _fuck_. Harry has experienced many things in his forced tourist life via death, but being forced into the body of a child was a new one for him.

Honestly, he didn't know whether or not to be impressed or angry with Death for pulling this shit.

"Oh." Harry muttered, and Deku seemingly got over whatever meekness he was feeling with a harsh swallow. He walked up to him, kneeling timidly next to him and fretting over him, hands hovering over him. It was cute—like watching a little deer be skittish. "Don't move me, you don't know if I have a spinal injury," Harry warned when it looked like Deku would move him onto his back.

Did he? He did not! Harry just felt lazy and didn't want to watch the sky spin endlessly above him, the world still dizzy to him.

Deku 'eep'ed and pulled back, holding his hands into his laps. "S-sorry, Harry-kun," he apologized, looking ashamed. "I- I just don't know how to help," Deku admitted, sounding very disappointed in himself. "If only I had a healing quirk, or something."

Healing quirk? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"S'cool," Harry assured him, pressing his eyes closed. It helped the spinning, and helped ground him, soothing his upset stomach. He could still feel his blood inside his veins, though, along with the heavy thump of his heartbeat ringing in his ears. "I'm not supposed to be here anyways," he admitted with a hefty slur to his words, tired, tired, and _so fucking tired_.

Curse Death, and his commitment on making Harry his glorified tourist.

"W-where are you supposed to be, then?" Deku didn't sound like he really wanted to know the answer, sounding terribly sad and curious.

Harry grinned against the dirt, despite not finding any real humor in his situation. "Nowhere, I guess—I'm supposed to dead, by all accounts," he huffed, and cracked open an eye to peer at Deku's stricken face, his smile softening just a bit. He wanted to tell him that it was okay, and maybe apologize for being such a Debby Downer; his words caught in his throat in a hefty wheeze, choking on air and something wet.

And without any flourish, he passed out.

-0-0-0-

Apparently, he died.

And also, apparently, he came back to life.

The explanation for this was chalked up to his _quirk_.

-0-0-0-

"It's an unfortunate quirk, no doubt," the doctor admitted with a piteous look aimed towards Harry. Harry promptly ignored him, more focused on scooping the last of the pudding out of the cup without outright shoving his face in there and licking it.

A social worker that was also there, sitting primly and worried in the seat next to Harry's bed, shook her head. Her gaze was also terribly sad and pitying, her hand laying open on the bed next to his lap, as if expecting him to clutch it for comfort. "Is—is this the first time, Harry-kun?"

"First time what?" Harry shoved his spoon into his mouth, blinking at her. "Dying? No, not really."

The social worker gasped gently, hand flying to her mouth. The doctor shook his head again, mouth pressed into a thin line. The _other_ person in the room, a police officer, looked disgusted. "Can you tell me more about what or _who_ brought you to that park, Harry-kun?"

_Maybe_, Harry wanted to reply, _if you get me another pudding_.

"Can't remember much," he said instead, finally addressing them properly. Harry figured he might as well work with what was going on here. It seemed like he was going to be stuck in this world for a while due to him dying didn't instantly transport him to yet another world. It wasn't often that he woke up with injuries that his previous death inflicted onto him, so it could factor in with his new _quirk_. And-

Well, he didn't have access to his magic.

Which _sucked_.

Instead, he was left with his _quirk_ and his wits.

"Anything helps," the police officer urged gently, and the social worker shook her head at him. "We want to find the people who held you before all this and caused you to," at this, he paused, uncomfortable. "We want to find those who hurt you," he said, at last.

"Don't make him relive it!" The social worker insisted, looking pale. "He's safe now, isn't he?"

"But if there are others like him?" The police officer shot back, and the doctor sighed, glancing between them all. Harry shifted, setting aside his empty pudding cup and idly scratching the skin near his IV. After a tense moment, the police officer sighed. "But it is getting late," he admitted, turning towards Harry. "Will you be okay to talking to me tomorrow?"

Harry perked up and nodded. He'll have time to figure out a backstory, then. Or at least, a solid alibi to give the authorities to get them off his back, and make his transition into this world more smooth. The police officer gave him a sad smile, and ruffled his hair as he left.

The social worker was the next to leave, promising him that everything will end soon and they'll find him a home. Harry couldn't help but feel like one of those lost kittens at an animal shelter.

"Do you have any idea how your quirk works?" The doctor asked, picking up his abandoned clipboard. He looked pained to ask this, and Harry couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for the man. "It's okay if you don't want to talk to me about it, but we need to register your quirk soon, along with getting you a proper citizenship here in Japan."

Right, _Japan_—Harry wondered why he couldn't be dropped off somewhere closer to his original home, England. Then again, it hardly mattered—at this point in his life, he's been basically about everywhere. In fact, if it weren't for the kanji (Harry never learned to write in other languages that used different alphabets; didn't really see a need to) and Deku's honorific of 'kun', he wouldn't have guessed he was in Japan because he just matched whatever language the locals were using and went with it.

And while the people here looked of Japanese descent, a lot of them had eye-catching hair and eye colors that threw him off, some people not even possessing human qualities at all.

"It's fine," Harry shrugged. "I die a lot."

The doctor winced. "Is there—any limitations to it?" Harry was relieved that they weren't speaking to him as if he was a _child-_child. While he had the body of a child, around the age of 8 or so, they were talking to him as if he was older. Maybe it was because he wasn't acting like a typical child.

Whatever the reason, Harry was grateful. "I don't know," Harry admitted, because he doesn't know what to add to his _quirk_. He thought about it, mulling it over in his head. Seeing as of that he woke up with injuries from his previous death—that was weird and unusual, he wasn't going to lie.

Maybe it was a clue.

"Each time I die, I'm still hurt afterwards," Harry said slowly, carefully. "So I guess if I get too hurt, I… won't come back," because obviously, he won't be immortal in this world. That would suck. He wouldn't accept that.

The doctor scribbled it down on his clipboard and sighed, giving him a wan smile. "Alright, that will be good enough," he assured. "Your quirk will be rebirth. It's not suited for much, especially heroes work—but, I think, that's for the best. You deserve to rest," the doctor declared, not noticing Harry's wince at the word _heroes_.

Heroes and villains—right, that. Harry wanted to laugh, because the word _hero_ would haunt him forever and ever, it seemed.

Oh well, it wasn't like he was going to involve himself with such things. Harry was left alone in his hospital room, idly flipping through the channels on the small TV and watching various heroes and their crime-fighting activities. There was something bitterly familiar about it, in its publicity and people capitalizing off of it.

_Is it really heroic to make these things so publicized? Especially being backed by sponsors_?

Harry had no intention whatsoever to become involved with the business of being a hero. He really didn't. He had enough of that in his first life. Still—wouldn't it be _hilarious_ if someone like him became a hero, especially with a _quirk_ like his? He could imagine his body falling and being used to trip some sleazy criminals that were trying to run—

And ta-da—the day is saved, and he hailed a hero!

There was some hilarity within it.

(Though Harry could never be too sure—his humor maybe have darkened over time, so maybe it wasn't as funny as he thought it was. But hey, it was funny to _him_, and that's all that matters.)

-0-0-0-

"Thank you for the meal!"

Harry dug into the home-made bento with gusto, sincere in his thanks. Deku, who's actual name was Midoriya Izuku, and his mother were visiting him. They had shown up a few days after his admission, much to his surprise. Harry figured he'd run off the kids off due to how they met.

"Don't eat too fast, you might get sick," Midoriya Inko warned, and Harry nodded, still shoveling eggs and rice into his mouth. Izuku let out a little laugh, still wary but concerned for him. He was a nice kid, despite being so skittish their first meeting.

Which—well, Harry couldn't fault him for that.

"Are you going to be released soon, Harry-kun?" Izuku asked, playing with a figurine of All-Might, the number one hero. He seemed to live and breathe the dude, so Harry didn't judge much. "Are you going to go home?"

"I don't have a home," Harry informed, still horribly blunt. Izuku's expression fell, even as Inko looked stricken. It was amusing, but Harry didn't tell them to be cruel. It was the truth, though he could be a bit more—softer with it, he supposed. "It's okay, though; Miki-san is looking for one for me," he assured them.

Miki-san was the social worker from before, though she was working closely with the government with him. Apparently due to his _past_ and his _quirk_, he was at risk for people stealing him to experiment on him. So, they were torn between anonymity and maybe homing him with a hero, which—well, Harry will burn that bridge when it comes to it.

"Oh, that's good!" Izuku looked relieved, smiling brightly at him. Inko looked similar, smiling slightly. "Are you excited for it, then?"

"Better than staying in this dumb hospital," Harry admitted, giving the IV in his arm and the room they were in a pointed look. He glanced back at his half-empty bento, poking the rest of it around idly. "The food here could be better."

"I can bring you more," Inko offered. She pressed a hand to her cheek, shaking her head with a sigh. "A growing boy needs his nutrients, after all. Especially after what you've been through, Harry-kun. You're very brave."

Harry averted his gaze, smiling awkwardly. "Thank you, Inko-san."

Brave? More like unfortunate.

The cover story he created was a bit spotty, but it worked well enough. He was an off-the-grid kid who grew up in some type of lab, and only escaped due to someone else's quirk of teleportation. When asked about his name, which was foreign to Japan, he admitted that he always had it. Everything else he couldn't explain was due to his young age, and his past, which no doubt messed with his perception and memory of things.

Not his _best_ work, but Harry wasn't one for cover stories that much.

"Do you think we can still hang out together after you get out of the hospital, Harry-kun?" Izuku asked before they left, sheepish and scuffing his foot against the floor. Harry could only wonder why he seemed to gravitate towards him, doesn't he have any other friends? He had that Kacchan person, right?

"Of course," Harry agreed, shrugging. "I don't have any other friends." The words made Izuku light up, and his smile was warm and blinding. Harry wondered if it was because they were considered friends, or if Izuku liked the fact that Harry had no other friends?

Because if _that_ was the case, then _rude_!

But Harry highly doubted that, because Izuku had this genuine feel of wanting to do good, of wanting to _be_ good, about him. It was almost refreshing and nice, and Harry wouldn't be surprised if he was aiming to be a hero later on in life.

Yeah—he would be a good hero, Harry decided. He could just feel it.

-0-0-0-

Miki-san introduced him to his new 'forever-home'.

It seemed like they decided on both anonymity _and_ a hero's home. Eraserhead was apparently a low-profile hero, who also doubled as a teacher at some high school for heroes. He was recommended by a few people, apparently.

"My name is Aizawa Shouta," the tired-looking man greeted, slouched in the chair next to his bed. Harry found himself smiling slightly at his expression. If anything, Aizawa appeared a bit more disgruntled at his smile. "I've been assigned to keep you out of trouble."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, that tracks," he chirped, a bit too giddy at _finally_ leaving the hospital. He was dressed in some cheap sweats Miki-san managed to get him, and his only other valuable was an All Might plush that Izuku gave him, so he didn't have to pack much. "I'll do my best to stay out of trouble, then. I'll warn you, though, Aizawa-san—trouble often finds _me_."

It was partially teasing, but the truth was heavy in that statement.

Aizawa eyed him before letting out a long-suffering sigh, slumping more into his seat and closing his eyes. He looked like he wanted a nap, which Harry could relate to. He then said, much to Harry's amusement, "great."

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read!

I'm trying to make my chapters a bit shorter so I can get them out faster, while also attempting to put _more_ in them.

See ya! :DD

-mms


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